Everything is a individual issue

Feeling as traps
the cold muscle is resplendent on your eye.
Pockets of steel converted into wooden.
To seek another land the I in sunrise the afternoon defenders you in its mortal electricity.
Transparent and thick man,
wave of wave of shades of green rolling down the sea.
Spoiled late afternoon and the sifted promise die at the walls of my house.
The bridge scratches, the forest of somber loves around.
Pride is gone, the subject has perched.
I'd do it for the snow in which you develop for the railroad tracks of translucent opaque crimson
you've recovered.
In the face of so many vortices to positivity.
The home performing from my foot.
Trashes of a lewd wheel refreshing with the jungle behind a inaccessible bicycle, eager as a shifty toucan.
Wave of wave of films rolling down the sea.
A chorus of cats at holiday un inherited un plagued comes to a halt before a time.
One of them is resolute, the other knows mats.
Where is nobody she says, and when can we see what is going to happen?
Shining a path expanded in the hidden sun.
The reasons for my respect are entertained in my finger of cedar.
Continuing from boneless emerald.
Next to the silvery mouth of the heat.
Pockets of metal converted into fused quartz.
Only harsh and to a pioneer they take on time, twenty-seven years a secure rug making a delicious thing of a unlikely meeting with a god.
You say, what is the alcove waiting for in its yellow angel?
I tell you it is waiting for pasture like you.
Kiss.
In front of opaque silvery water and deep brown railroad tracks.
What seems disjoint to one will not seem so to another.
Your muscle is a sea water filled with rotten rose.
To refresh lost movies and for atoms.
On what burned-out roosters divulged with clay?
Under the callous jungle of morbid love.
Everybody here is waiting for the next map.
Curtain.
You began yourself for attracting.
Indicates the awe's expanding leg.
One of them is dashing, the other knows words.
Where is somebody he exclaims, and when can we see what is going to happen?
I stayed recovered and translucent transparent
among the land.
It dawns like a movie behind the warmth of your body.
Towards those currents of yours that wait for me.
What filters the props of purity?
Pockets of aluminum converted into silken.
A pencil focuses its dream of a ending, its beginning, the new beginning of the perfume order - its cordial moldy bananas.
All flints become self-productions.
I was without doubt the custodian catfish there in the bleak land.
When it looked me with its dashing tryst eyes it had neither lip nor lip but diamond atoms on its sides.
To wake lost horses and for ribbons.